


A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me"

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Friendship, Humor, M/M, Romance, Smut, Whiny Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-11 16:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4443617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Happy sixteenth, mate.  What do you want for your birthday?”</p><p>“Oh, I don’t know, Trott.  How about a blowie?”<br/>~Troffy Teencast AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Favors

Smith noticed Trott glancing at the clock, and he tried to withhold his giddy excitement at the thought of time passing steadily onward into the night. He shuffled his hand in front of his mouth to hide his unwanted grin, unable to disperse the excitement in his gut.

Trott’s eyes returned to the TV screen, and Smith swallowed down his grin. Not yet.

He shouldn’t’ve been so damn giddy, he should’ve been sober and mature. He was turning sixteen, after all, and there’s something he’d promised himself he’d do once he turned sixteen.

Trott glanced back at the clock, and the stupid grin returned to Smith’s face. Nerves? Yeah, it must’ve been nerves more than anything.

Trott threw a sidelong glance at him and before Smith realized it, said, “Happy sixteenth, mate.”

Smith looked over himself, seeing the clock had struck midnight. The smile, toothy and conspicuous, wormed its way onto his lips. “Thanks, mate.”

If Trott noticed how odd the smile looked, he gave no sign. He did lean over, bumping his shoulder against Smith’s. “You’re old now, like me.”

“Nah, not old like you, mate. You’re old old.”

Trott ignored that; he was used to those comments from Smith. “So what do you want for your birthday, mate?”

Smith bit his lip as he tried to suppress the grin. Now or never. He’d promised himself.

“How about a blowie?”

Trott narrowed his eyes. “You’re hilarious, mate.”

“C’mon, Trott, you only turn sixteen once, mate.”

Trott rolled his eyes at Smith, and leaned back against Smith’s headboard, one eyebrow raised in dignified skepticism.

Smith’s expression held.

Trott’s eyebrow twitched, then fell, both brows furrowing now in confusion. “You’re not serious, Smith?”

Smith felt the smile break free. He must’ve looked a right tool, he figured, with such a stupid expression on his face.

But Trott only frowned, and reached a hand up to cover his mouth. His eyes bore into Smith’s, unreadable, questioning, before he dropped his hand and spoke once again.

“And is there a reason you’re trying this on me and not, oh, I don’t know, one of the ten girls crushing on you in class?”

“Trotty, those girls would say yes in a heartbeat. You won’t do that, will you?”

“That’s the point,” Trott said, frown etched onto his face. “What exactly are you trying to accomplish?”

Finally Smith felt the idiotic smile drop away as he felt the importance of his next words gnawing away at him. He shifted onto his knees, facing Trott from only a few centimeters away. “I thought it was obvious, mate,” he muttered, dropping his hands onto Trott’s shoulders. “I want you to suck me off.”

Trott watched him, expression unreadable.

Smith leaned in, pressing his lips against the column of Trott’s throat. “I want your dirty mouth around me.” Trott’s skin shivered, chest still as his breathing halted. “I want your sharp tongue on me and your lips around me, mate.” He drew his teeth across Trott’s throat, gentle and slow. He felt Trott’s adam’s apple bob.

“Fuck, Smith -”

Smith pulled back from Trott. “I’m the birthday boy,” he said. “I want a blowie, Trott. What’s a blowie between friends?”

“Smith, you can’t just - we can’t just -”

“What?” Smith whined.

“Your parents are just in the other fucking room, mate! I - we have class tomorrow! Christ, I - Smith, there are about a hundred reasons - I can’t - !”

“Trott,” Smith said in his wheedling voice. “You’re my best mate. Won’t you do this? For me?”

Trott stopped, mouth gaping open, at a loss for how to continue. “S- Smith,” he murmured.

Smith rested his hand on Trott’s cheek, stroking his thumb along the line of his cheek, feeling the bumps of acne scars and the bristle of his minimal facial hair. Trott closed his mouth and his breath whistled a little out of his nose. Smith bit his lip.

“Oh …” Trott said. “-kay. Okay. You sick bastard.”

The smile on Smith’s face felt bright, out-of-control, and he saw that reflected in Trott’s eyes. “Just a favour, Smith, because you’re fucking ridiculous,” Trott interjected, and Smith tried to tamp down on his excitement. Trott was doing it, as a favour. Not because he wanted to, but as a favour, because it was Smith’s birthday and he’d begged.

Eh, good enough. Smith wasn’t about to complain.

Trott’s eyelashes flickered as his eyes moved down to Smith’s lips. Smith leaned in, capturing Trott’s lips with his own, and allowed his eyes to fall shut. Trott’s lips, hesitant, spread to allow Smith’s tongue to caress his.

Smith felt a flicker of boiling heat, of purposeful instinct, light up inside of him, and he leaned in to Trott, pushing him down onto his back against the mattress. Trott made an annoyed noise, a little disconcerted squeak, but Smith captured it with his lips, dropping a hand onto the mattress either side of Trott’s head.

He’d made out before, mostly with girls in someone else’s bedroom, half-drunk and high on the party’s energy. He was surprised, now, at how he was aware of each moment, each movement, of Trott underneath him, the way his chest bumped against Smith’s every so often, and the taste of his tongue, still minty from the toothpaste he’d used this evening.

But Trott was disappointingly still beneath him, not squirmy like the girls he’d kissed before had been, so Smith leaned away, allowing their lips to part and opening his eyes to stare down at Trott’s flushed face.

“C’mon, mate, is there something I can do to get you a little more excited for the prospect?”

“Fuck off,” Trott muttered, his face still bright red.

But Smith didn’t take well to directions, so he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Trott’s cheek. The other’s sharp intake of breath caused his lips to curl up in a smile, and he dropped another deliberate kiss on Trott’s jawline. 

“Mmmmate,” he whined, breath ghosting over Trott’s throat.

“What?” Trott asked in what sounded delightfully like a moan.

“Take your clothes off, mate?”

“Mmph, what --” Smith licked Trott’s ear, and Trott made a fantastic noise in response. “Smith, I don’t need to strip to suck you off.”

“I want you to,” Smith said earnestly, and bit Trott’s ear.

That was definitely a moan escaping Trott, and his chest and hips rocked up so slowly against Smith. And Smith felt his hot little hard-on against Smith’s thigh, and felt an arousing tug in his own gut. “Strip, Trott,” he breathed.

“Fine,” Trott muttered, tone at odds with his demonstrations of arousal, and he pushed at Smith’s shoulders until the larger leaned back and let him out from underneath him.

Trott stumbled a little as he climbed off the bed, standing just at the side, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. Smith shuffled on the bed, crossing his legs and grinning.

“Any day now, mate.”

Trott gave him a dark look, fingers moving to the bottom button on his shirt. Smith watched his thumb, flicking practiced under the edge of the fabric, loosening the fabric and tugging the button out. Fingers stroking, graceful, up the line of fabric to the next button.

Smith’s eyes flickered up to Trott’s face, seeing that the shorter man was watching him. Was Trott. Was Trott purposefully giving him a striptease? Smith hoped so, and looked back down to the show.

Trott wasn’t wearing anything under the shirt, and despite the fact that Smith’d seen Trott shirtless more than a handful of times over the duration of their friendship, there was something about his slow reveal that made this about a thousand times more sexy than it had any right to be.

And finally Trott reached the top button and shrugged the shirt off, and Smith would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a twinge of painful arousal in the pit of his stomach, and lower.

He was pale; Smith knew that. And Smith knew Trott’d been taking karate or something on weekends; just about every other time Smith asked him over, Trott would demure and say he was busy. And then Smith realized that he hadn’t seen Trott shirtless recently, not since last summer, and holy fucking shit how did the prick become so fit in such a short time? Because he could practically see some kind of fucking six pack on Trott’s abdomen and he was starting to feel like he was drooling.

His eyes darted up to meet Trott’s again, and found himself both pissed and aroused by the smirk on the other boy’s face. Okay, yeah, the prick totally knew he was fit.

Smith cleared his throat and waved his hand. Trott smiled, and rested his hands on the top hem of his jeans.

No, the bastard wasn’t going to make this quick or easy.

His thin musician’s fingers were tracing the line of the hem, stroking along his hipbones and the sparse hair leading … down. Smith licked his lips involuntarily, his hand shifting to rest inconspicuously on his lap, and his straining boner.

A single flick of those delicate fingers and Trott was tugging down his fly over his fully erect cock. He winced a little at the pressure, breath hissing out of him as he eased his jeans past his cock and the rest of the way down his legs.

Then Trott straightened, and Smith tried to make himself find the stretched fabric of his boxers silly or ridiculous; but instead he fought with the overwhelming arousal pooling in his stomach, squirming slightly and pressing the heel of his hand against his own dick.

Trott met his eyes, smirking, and pulled his boxers down.

Shit, shit, shit, Smith wanted to grab Trott’s dick and tug on it and probably suck it as well, but no, he promised himself Trott would suck his dick and that’s what was going to happen.

So Smith scooted forward so that he was sitting at the end of the bed, his feet on the ground and spread so Trott could slide on in between them.

“Undo my fly,” he ordered, and Trott moved forward to do so, the vaguely tropical scent of Trott’s shampoo wafting forward.

The light pressure of Trott’s fingers against him was enough to cause him to hiss in a breath. He shifted upward to allow Trott to tug his erection free of the fabric, the smaller boy’s hands callused and really, really heavenly against Smith’s sensitive erection.

He leaned his head back, and whined, “Suck me off, Trott.”

Trott did.

Oh god, his mouth was so warm and wet and his lips were so tight around Smith and he found himself shuddering with each movement and huff of breath from Trott’s nose.

Smith opened his eyes and looked down, seeing Trott’s eyes wide open and staring up at him, mouth tight around him and lips pursed against the skin of Smith’s cock. Oh this was better than he had imagined. He could feel Trott’s tongue slide along his skin, causing pleasure to blossom in waves and his hips jerked forward a little of their own volition.

“Little slut,” Smith muttered, and Trott’s eyes narrowed at him.

Smith sat up a little more so he could see Trott from higher up, the naked expanse of his back taut and leading right down to his rounded bare ass. Smith wished he could reach down to slap it, just a little, but everything felt too good to feel more than momentarily inconvenienced.

Trott leaned in, and Smith felt his hands pushing the fabric of Smith’s jeans and boxers down farther. Smith shifted, obliging, to help Trott.

And with the extra room, he felt Trott’s fingers pressing, stroking along his balls and then back farther.

“Trott,” he began to say, but then Trott’s fingers reached his ass.

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit fuck.

Smith’d never done that, never thought to try it, but Trott’s fingers were pressing against his asshole and it felt - it felt euphoric, bizarre, scary, but oh unbelievable -

“M-more,” he moaned.

Trott paused in his movement, pointer finger putting light pressure on Smith’s opening.

“Oh please, Trott,” he gasped.

The finger twitched.

“Please Trott, please Trott, more.”

A second finger joined the first, massaging him in a little circle. Methodic, relaxing, and shit shit shit.

“Please, Trott, more, I need more.”

The tip of a finger dipped inside him, and his breath escaped him in a whine. “Oh god, Trott.”

The finger pulled out, and pushed in again. “Please, Trott, fuck me. Fuck me.”

He could still distantly feel the heady warmth of Trott’s mouth around his erection but he could only concentrate on the unusual and perfect feeling of Trott’s finger in his asshole. He wanted more but Trott only kept teasing him, pushing so lightly it felt like tickling.

But the pleasure was steadily mounting and his breath was escaping him in gasps and groans too strong to even beg anymore. 

And then with a final spasm, he finished into Trott's mouth, breath escaping him in a concentrated hiss.

Smith collapsed back, gasping uncontrollably, time stretched out into interminable moments. He felt the whisper of movement against his skin, and then the warmth of Trott’s hands on the sides of his waist.

Trott leaned in, his breath hot against Smith’s neck. “Who’s the slut now, sunshine?”

Smith’s heart was thrumming in his chest and he sucked in a deep breath, unable to think of anything to say, let alone muster up the air to say it.

Trott’s lips and tongue were fire against his throat, his fingers digging deeply into Smith’s sides and relighting the fire in Smith’s stomach. He could feel Trott, so hard, pressing into his thigh. A whimper escaped his lips as Trott’s mouth pulled away, and Trott hissed, “Don’t worry, babe.”

Trott’s hands shifted, the left moving down to his own arousal and the right shifting up to frame Smith’s head. Trott braced himself against the mattress and Smith didn’t need to look down to see when he took his own arousal in hand.

Smith watched the pattern of expressions flicker across Trott’s face as he stroked himself - bliss edging on a grimace, eyes shut against the barrage of sensation.

And then he froze, biting his bottom lip, brow furrowed, and Smith felt the warmth of the other boy’s come against his lower abdomen.

Trott let out a choked breath, half collapsing against Smith’s chest, breath warm and wet against Smith’s neck.

Smith smiled, and flopped a sleepily unresponsive arm over Trott’s lower back. The shorter boy stirred against him, lifting his head up a fraction so that his dark eyes could meet Smith’s.

For a moment, Trott’s eyes just flickered across Smith’s face, taking in his expression. Then he sighed, put-upon, and said, “We didn’t have a condom or anything, mate, what the fuck.”

“What?” Smith asked, startled.

“Go whining about wanting me to fuck you, mate, don’t we need like a condom and lube and shit?”

Smith ignored the flush on his own face, and gritted his teeth. “Really looking forward to that shit, Chris Trott is.”

“Fuck off,” Trott groaned, allowing his head to drop back down onto the mattress. “Just, next time, fucking prepare, mate, yeah?”

Smith lifted his other hand, dropping it onto the back of Trott’s head. “Yeah, sure, whatever, mate.”

Sleepy silence draped over the two of them, the quiet of the evening sinking in finally. Smith stifled a yawn, shifting a little. It was pretty fucking uncomfortable, but he was way too lazy to move at this point.

He felt Trott’s lips move against his throat.

“What?”

“Slut,” Trott murmured sleepily.

Smith ground his teeth. “We’ll see, Trotty.”

Smith felt the delicate press of lips against his throat. “We will,” Trott promised.


	2. Underwater

Smith awoke to a horrible ache in his neck and the stench of dried semen. He groaned, roughly, and tried to roll over, but his feet couldn’t hold purchase against the hardwood floor and he slipped off the side of the bed and onto the ground.

Man, he was a dumbass. It’s not like he didn’t know they had school today. He’d just managed to conveniently forget that fact until now. What time was it, anyway?

He shuffled to his feet and stared blearily at his alarm clock. Fifteen till seven. That was like … a half hour before he usually woke.

That was when the sound of the shower running hit his ears, and he realized why he’d awoken. 

Trott, stealing all of his hot water.

And most definitely naked.

A smile tugged at the corners of Smith’s lips and he yanked off his half-discarded clothing in a couple of quick movements. Weight on his toes, he made his way to the bathroom door, only to find it open a crack, steam drifting out, gently carried on the air.

He rested his fingers on the wooden door and quietly pushed it open, recoiling slightly at the rush of steam. Trott hadn’t even turned the fan on. What a prick.

It was cloudy, but the sight of Trott was all too clear to Smith: eyes shut, he stood beneath the spray of water. Smith had trouble staying focused on Trott’s face - then he gave up entirely in favor of enjoyment.

And enjoy he did: a wet Trott was not a sight to scoff at. Smith watched the droplets trace their way down Trott’s throat, landing onto his clavicle and dripping down, further along the planes of his chest.

“Fuck,” Smith whispered.

Trott’s eyes blinked open, a smile worming its way onto his face. “Good morning, Alex.”

“Good morning,” Smith said, more agreeable than usual. “Very good morning.”

Trott turned to face him, slinging the washcloth that was in his hand onto the shower door rack. Smith’s washcloth. “Well, sunshine, you got time for a morning cleanup?”

“Is that even a question?”

Trott slid the door open, the racket of metal against metal not enough to cause either of them to break eye contact. Smith smirked as he made his way up to the door, more than pleased with his height advantage.

“Do I get a good morning kiss?” Smith asked, simpering.

Trott grinned toothily, and patted Smith on the cheek. “Maybe later. Get in here, you pillock.”

Smith shuffled in, hands chasing Trott’s skin, ignoring the high-pressure water from the showerhead. Trott’s skin was slippery, almost soapy, and Trott gave him a reluctantly affectionate look.

Smith wasn’t sure why, but something in the way the steam hovered around them, the quiet adoration in Trott’s eyes, caused a pang in his heart. He shuffled closer to Trott, drawn inexorably in. Trott tilted his head up obligingly, faint smile questioning.

Smith wrapped his arms around Trott, dropping his forehead down onto Trott’s shoulder. Trott almost stumbled under Smith’s sudden weight, but then his hands came up to rest against Smith’s lower chest.

Smith sucked in a breath, arousal twingeing in his gut. The feel of Trott’s hands against him was so tempting, and part of him wanted to grab Trott and pull the shorter man to him; but he fought against the urge, pressing his lips to Trott’s neck and sighing with simple contentment.

Trott let out a quiet laugh, shifting a little. “It tickles.”

A grin broke out on Smith’s face, and he nuzzled against the crook between Trott’s neck and shoulder.

“Stop it!” Trott snapped, but there was humor in his voice. He brought his hands up to rest higher against Smith’s chest, playfully trying to push him away.

“Nah,” Smith muttered, voice muffled by Trott’s skin.

Trott’s fingers trailed against Smith’s chest and Smith let out a sudden yelp as they caught his nipple. Trott laughed aloud, and Smith bared his teeth against Trott’s neck.

“Kinky,” Smith murmured into Trott’s neck, and Trott’s fingers released him, trailing along the sides of his chest and down again.

They fell quiet then, the sound of the rushing water drowning out the sounds of their breaths and heartbeats. Smith inhaled deeply, the scent of Trott’s wet skin familiar and reassuring. His tongue darted out of his mouth, lapping up some of the sweet water against his skin.

Trott sighed, slow and gentle, and Smith opened his eyes. All he could see was the skin of Trott’s neck and back, and the ends of his wet hair. Smith’s hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, to stroke the strands, feeling the silkiness.

He tilted his head, just enough so that his mouth was no longer pressed against Trott’s skin. He sucked in a deep breath, and then said, hardly louder than a whisper, “I love you.”

Smith could feel Trott’s hesitation in the way his breath caught and held; he twisted his head up, trying to catch sight of Trott’s expression. But he couldn’t see from his angle. He held his breath, hoping that he hadn’t crossed some line.

“I --” Trott said, and Smith sighed.

“I love you, too,” Trott said, but his face was still angled away from Smith.

So Smith pulled his head back, standing up straight, and tried to meet Trott’s eyes. He looked away at first, but finally tilted his head up to meet Smith’s gaze.

“I do,” Trott said, hardly loud enough to hear over the water.

And Smith leaned in, cradling Trott’s cheek with one hand, and pressed their lips together. Gently, at first; he savored the warmth and careful movement as Trott’s shoulders slowly relaxed. Trott leaned into him, tangling one hand in Smith’s, and Smith felt his heart leap as he realized that yes, this was real, this was happening.

And on his sixteenth birthday, too.

Nice.

Smith pulled his lips away, drifting down to nip Trott’s chin, and Trott let out another one of those breathy laughs. Smith was quickly growing addicted to them, the way it sounded almost, but not quite, like a pant.

Trailing kisses down his neck, Smith continued to crouch awkwardly, finally dropping onto his haunches as he reached Trott’s chest. His lips sought out Trott’s nipples, remembering the shock that had gone through him at Trott’s earlier touch.

Trott jumped against him, hands coming to rest on Smith’s head as his breath escaped him in a hiss. “Jesus, Smith,” he muttered, and Smith couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips.

He quickly trailed across Trott’s chest and to his other nipple, aware of the pain in his thighs. He’d have to keep moving, so only after a cursory tug he began moving downward again.

Trott let out a moan of frustration, but then he blinked and seemed to take real notice of what Smith was doing, and a smile crossed his face as Smith finally shifted onto his knees.

“Oh, I see. Nice.”

Smith chuckled against Trott’s skin, his mouth now at the other’s abdomen just above Trott’s very interested cock.

“It’s only fair,” Smith said, smile audible.

“You know, mate,” Trott said, tangling the fingers of one hand in Smith’s curls, “you’re not doing a very good job convincing me you’re not a slut.”

Smith struggled to hide his smile as he shifted back up onto his feet. “Oh, well I guess I’ll just get up then--”

“Oh, Smith, I wouldn’t want to throw you off your game,” Trott said smoothly, leaning forward, hands still exerting pressure against Smith’s head.

Smith raised his eyebrows, and Trott moved his left hand to stroke along the side of Smith’s face, beginnings of facial hair scratchy against his fingers. “C’mon, Smith, show me what you’ve got.”

The smile that broke across Smith’s face was nothing short of devious. “Well when you put it that way,” he said, and sank back down to his knees.

He leaned in, lips resting against Trott’s upper thigh, and his tongue darted out to taste Trott’s skin. Trott twitched under his touch, a muffled curse escaping from the older boy’s mouth. Smith suppressed the urge to tease him, instead reveling in the taste of his warm, clean skin.

He found his hands drifting, exploring, stroking lightly against Trott’s erection and then reaching back to cup his balls gently. With each movement, he could feel Trott’s reactionary shudder and the surprised gasps.

Then he felt a tug as Trott’s fingers tightened against his hair, and Trott hissed, “Hurry the fuck up, Smith.”

So he obliged.

He lapped up the small amount of precum at the end of Trott’s erection, the taste diluted by the water, and slid forward on his knees until he held the tip of Trott in his mouth.

“Alex,” Trott muttered, and Smith had to stop himself from grinning.

He slid forward, careful to keep his lips covering his teeth. It actually required a lot more attention than he had imagined: tight lips, relaxed mouth - it was hard to focus. And then he dragged his tongue against the bottom of Trott’s erection and the sound that escaped the other boy sent a thrill through Smith.

He loved it, the not-altogether pleasant taste in his mouth, the feel of coiled energy in Trott’s limbs, those delightful sounds he kept hearing. This was so much better than he would’ve imagined.

He leaned in more, wanting to show his appreciation in some tangible way - his throat seized, but he clenched his hand in a fist and forced himself to concentrate. And he leaned in, opening his mouth and throat wider, craving the feeling of being filled.

Trott’s hand dropped down onto his shoulder, squeezing; Smith looked up as best he could, eyes wide and questioning. “S -- Alex,” Trott gasped, and Smith could see from this far away that his eyes were dilated with pleasure. “Y-you don’t have to--”

Smith snorted, a little puff of breath leaving his nose, and shoved his head forward, holding Trott’s eye contact.

And Trott’s eyes slammed shut, an expression of part pleasure and part pain crossing his face as Smith’s mouth and throat filled with his cum. Smith jerked his head back, spluttering a little, but reached up to wrap his hands around the end of Trott’s cock, jerking him through the rest of his climax.

Afterwards, Trott seemed to collapse, dropping down onto his knees opposite Smith. But before Smith could ask if he was okay, Trott had thrown his arms around Smith and pressed their lips together, the taste of his mouth minty and clean against the salty taste of his cum in Smith’s mouth.

Finally Trott pulled away, and before Smith could protest, he’d reached up to grab the washcloth. He dragged it gently across Smith’s face, and Smith realized he was wiping up the rest of his cum.

“Jesus, Smith,” Trott muttered, voice almost drowned out by the shower.

“What?” Smith asked, surprised at how out of breath he sounded.

“Where the fuck did you learn to deepthroat?”

“Uh,” Smith said. He bit his lip. “Not really sure, mate.”

“Trust you to say that. Jesus.”

Over the sound of the shower, an obnoxious ringing rose. “What’s that?” Trott said, worry entering his tone.

“Oh, s’just my alarm.”

“What time is your alarm set for?”

“Oh,” Smith said. “Oh shit. We have five minutes to get ready.”

“Seriously? Smith, you’re a mess!”

“Better fucking hurry up,” Smith said, lurching to his feet and pouncing on the shampoo bottle. “You go ahead and get dressed, I’ll just be a second!”

“This was a bad idea,” Trott hissed, nervousness making his movements stilted.

Smith frowned, and reached out one hand to grab Trott’s arm. Trott stopped, one foot out of the shower, one foot in, and turned to look at Smith. “Hey,” Smith said softly.

“I --” Trott blinked. “Oh, no, Smith, I don’t regret it. Don’t think that,” Trott said, stepping back in to rest his hands on Smith’s chest. He reached up, pressed a light kiss against Smith’s chin. “I’m just worried. Hurry up!” And with a light slap to Smith’s ass, he was gone.

Smith grinned to himself even as he frantically began scrubbing his hair. Thing couldn’t have really gone better, could they have?

Best fucking birthday ever.


	3. Condoms

Smith wasn’t really expecting Trott to receive his note, let alone follow the hastily-written instructions inside. But he’d only been hiding in the bathroom for about a minute or so when the door creaked open, too slowly for someone with innocent intentions, and Trott poked his head around the side.

Seeing Smith, he yanked the door open and darted the rest of the way inside, movements furtive and concerned.

“Okay, Smith, what was so important you had to --mph!”

Trott’s question got answered for him as Smith dropped a hand on his waist and planted his lips on the shorter man. Trott froze, for a moment, then two hands were planted on Smith’s chest and he was shoved away from Trott.

Smith pouted, a hand reaching out to grasp one of Trott’s. Trott allowed himself to be caught, but his eyes were darting around the bathroom nervously.

“I checked,” Smith whined. “There’s no one here.”

Trott’s eyes, dark and flat in the fluorescent lighting, turned to Smith. “Smith, this is a public restroom. _Anyone_ can come through the door.”

Smith tugged Trott’s hand. “C’mon, then.”

Trott frowned, but followed Smith as he lead the shorter man to a stall. He pushed the door open, and gestured inside. “Trotts first,” he said.

The eye roll he received in response was impressive, but Trott did step inside the stall and tug Smith after him. “I don’t see what you’re planning on accomplishing here, Smith. It’s still school hours and we’re--” Smith latched the door shut behind them, and Trott huffed out a sigh. “C’mere, then,” he said, and, pulling his hand free from Smith’s, he wrapped his arms around Smith’s waist and pulled him close.

Trott’s mouth was just a few inches away from Smith’s, now, and it was due to height more than anything else. Trott’s smile was more of a smirk, coy and entrancing.

“Now that you’ve got me,” Trott said, “what were you planning on doing?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Smith said, leaning just a fraction closer, their lips now centimeters away from each other.

But before their lips could meet, there was a loud bang as someone threw open the bathroom door. Trott jumped violently in Smith’s arms, and before he’d thought it through, Smith wrapped his arms around Trott’s waist and lifted him up onto the toilet seat.

Trott, his arms now draped around Smith’s shoulders, stared down at Smith with near panic in his eyes. “Smith,” he hissed, but Smith shook his head and lifted an index finger up to his lips.

They stood there in dead silence as the other student unzipped and Trott all but blanched at the sound of him pissing. His hands tightened on Smith’s shoulders, eyes widening in alarm.

Smith really felt like he should have thought this through. But on the plus side, he and Trott were pressed against each other here, and Trott was clinging to him with an enthusiasm that was no doubt a result of his fear. So Smith couldn’t really bring himself to feel like this was a bad idea.

The scuff of tennis shoes against the laminate flooring, and the short sound from the faucet, and then the door banged open and shut again.

And it was silent.

“Shit,” Trott breathed. “Shit, Smith, I _told_ you.”

“Aww, it was okay, Trott.”

“Do you know what kind of trouble we could get in for this?!”

Smith felt his lips drop into a pout, and he leaned forward. It was novel, Trott standing taller than him. Smith tucked his head beneath Trott’s chin, finding the other boy surprisingly compliant despite his tone.

“I missed you,” Smith murmured, voice muffled by Trott’s skin.

Trott heaved a sigh; an exaggerated sigh, and Smith’s head rose and fell with Trott’s chest.

Smith felt Trott’s hands move from his shoulders up to his head, and then the gentle fingers were trailing through his hair. A contented sigh escaped him, and his lips quirked up into a smile against Trott.

“You’re horrible,” Trott said, quietly.

“Love you, too,” Smith said.

Trott snorted. “Yeah, yeah.”

Smith opened his mouth and bit Trott, just lightly, his teeth grazing Trott’s collarbone. Trott jumped, and his hand froze in Smith’s hair. “What the fuck?” He didn’t sound too angry; just startled.

“You have to say it back,” Smith said, petulant.

Trott smiled an indulgent smile. “Is that so?”

“Those’re the rules,” Smith said.

“Well in that case,” Trott said, and his fingers buried themselves in Smith’s curls, tugging his hair just enough to make Smith moan. “Love you, too, you prick.”

“Thanks, babe,” Smith said, only a little sarcasm in his tone.

But before that could go any further, a raucous bell rang out and Trott swore. “Damn it, Smith! School’s over and we’ve just been hiding in a bathroom for a half an hour!”

“Better get back to class, then!” Smith said, and tugged Trott down from his perch.

Trott fussed with his shirt, seemingly flustered, as Smith opened the stall door. He threw a glance back over his shoulder. “You look fine, Trott. No one will know we just hung out in a bathroom stall together for the last half of class.”

“Ha-ha,” Trott said. “Don’t even joke, you twat.”

They darted out of the bathroom together, fighting their way against the stream of students leaving campus. Smith had an easier time with it, what with his height, and he managed to grab both of their things from the classroom before the teacher managed to realize they’d both been gone _quite_ a long time.

Trott met him in the hallway, nervously shifting from foot to foot. Smith tossed his backpack at him, and the smaller boy nearly fell over with the surprise. “Jesus, Smith, warn me will you!”

“Nah,” Smith said, frustratingly laconic. Then: “We can go to the store now, right?”

Not many people would notice the blush on Trott’s face, but Smith was able to discern the pink hue to his cheeks and ears. “Yes, okay, don’t say that so loud.”

“C’mon, Trott,” Smith said, capturing Trott’s hand with his own and entwining their fingers. “No one knows what we’re talking about.”

“They could figure it out,” Trott said, but Smith could tell his heart wasn’t in the argument anymore. His dark eyes were focused on their hands, entwined together in front of god and the everyone.

Smith swung their hands, once, and Trott gave him a scowl that would’ve almost been intimidating if the shorter man hadn’t clutched his hand tighter.

“Yeah, mate, let’s go to the store.”

~

Okay, Smith was kind of an asshole.

But it was funny, standing here in the aisle, reading aloud the benefits of various condoms and lubes. Trott’s expression was a cross between entranced and horrified, as Smith regaled everyone in the surrounding three aisles with the small text on the boxes.

“Hey, Trott,” he said. “You like strawberry, don’t you?” He held up a box of flavoured condoms.

“Good one,” Trott said flatly. “But you of all people know we should be getting them to your taste.”

“You’ve got me there, Trott,” Smith said. “Anyway, we don’t need flavoured ones, do we? Not for our purposes.”

“No, no we don’t,” Trott said. “Why don’t we get these?”

“Ribbed for her pleasure? Oh, Trott, you say the sweetest things.”

“I’m only thinking of you, sweetheart.”

Smith was very aware of how pathetic it was that his heart fluttered, just a little bit. And he couldn’t help but tug Trott toward him, putting a hand on his shoulder and leaning down to press a gentle kiss on his lips. Trott reciprocated, slow and quiet and way more romantic than a kiss should be when they were standing in the store aisle in front of the condoms.

A nervous clearing of a throat, and the two broke apart to stare at a short young woman. “Um, sorry,” she said. “Do you mind..?”

Their eyes met, self-conscious suddenly. They stepped aside, Trott spitting out an apology.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, tucking a strand of short black hair behind her ear. “But, um, can I make a suggestion?”

Smith and Trott looked at each other, nervous despite themselves. “I guess?” Smith said finally, tone just short of hostile.

She smiled at them. “Keep it simple the first time,” she said simply, and as she walked past them she dropped a box in Trott’s hands.

They both watched her as she walked down the aisle and away, then turned to stare at each other, dumbfounded. “Jesus, we just got _told_ ,” Smith said.

“How did she know it was our first time..?”

“Maybe because we’ve just been blathering about like idiots. Jeez. Let’s go, Trott.” Smith slung his arm across Trott’s shoulder and steered him toward the checkout.

“Damn, no, wait, we need lube!” Trott escaped from under Smith’s arm and darted back, grabbing a bottle of lube. “Water-based?” he asked, somewhat frantically.

“Yes, water-based, okay, let’s go,” Smith slung his arm back over Trott’s shoulder and tugged him toward the front.

“Oh god, Smith, I don’t want to talk to the cashier.”

“Then don’t say anything.”

“Wait, who’s paying for this?”

“Can it be my prezzy?”

“Can it - yeah, sure, okay, Smith. I thought I was your prezzy?”

“You, too.”

Trott was somewhat surprised to note that the cashier did not give one single fuck about their purchase, even though he was bright red the whole time, and Smith’s arm stayed where it was around his shoulders. It was a relief to have the illicit items tucked away in a bag as they made their way back outside.

“To yours?” Trott asked, self-consciously.

“Mine? Nah, mate. We already risked my parents hearing, now we’ve got to risk yours?”

“What?!” Trott said, and it sounded a little too much like a squawk.

“Fair’s fair, mate.”

Trott groaned, and Smith found it kind of sexy despite himself. “Fine.”

And so they walked together, Smith’s arm around Trott, all the way to Trott’s house.


	4. KO

The house was empty, thank god. There was a note on the fridge for Trott, a pleasant message from his parents saying that they wouldn’t be back until after dinner, there are leftovers in the fridge. Smith saw relief break out across Trott’s face, and for a moment almost felt guilty for making him host their little tête-a-tête.

But guilt wasn’t really Smith’s style, so he leaned against the fridge door and said in a purposefully sultry voice, “Aren’t you going to invite me back?”

Trott rolled his eyes, setting the note down on the counter. “Smith, you’ve been in my room half a million times. You know where it is.”

Smith stalked past him, looking down his nose at Trott. “Romance is dead,” he said mournfully as he disappeared into the hallway.

Smith was reassured to hear Trott’s footsteps after him; he didn’t really think he could manage to wait in Trott’s room for long. He’d been ignoring it, giddily sailing about his day in anticipation, ignoring the fear coupled with his excitement. But then, as it was coming closer and closer to reality, the niggling worry was starting to build up in his chest.

He really didn’t know what he was asking for, did he? He knew he wanted it, keening in his chest, but he didn’t know what it would actually be like.

Trott’s hand came to rest on his forearm, and Smith startled, finding himself staring blankly at the closed door to Trott’s room. Trott’s hand stroked along Smith’s arm, and Smith’s eyes flitted to Trott’s face.

The shorter man wore a look of concern, slight frown and furrowed brows. Catching Smith’s eyes, he began, “Smith, you don’t have to--”

“I want it, Trott,” Smith said fiercely. “Don’t try to tell me I don’t.”

Trott made a noise, half hum and half sigh. “I know that, Smith. I’m just trying to say -- don’t keep it all to yourself. If you’re worried, talk to me.”

Smith felt a blush on his face, knowing he’d jumped to conclusions because of his own nervousness. “Let’s just - go inside for now,” he said, reaching out and opening the door to Trott’s room with a sense of finality.

He headed straight to Trott’s desk and took a seat in the chair, purposefully slouching to give his body language the ease his emotions lacked. Tilting his head back, he focused his gaze on the popcorn ceiling above their heads.

There was a gentle rustle as Trott set the shopping bag down on his desk before turning back to face Smith. Smith lolled his head on loose shoulders until his eyes met Trott’s.

“What do you want to do, mate?” Trott asked, and Smith wanted to burst out laughing. Right now? Puke.

“You have a bathtub,” Smith said instead. It came out sounding like a question, and he gritted his teeth in annoyance.

But Trott, bless him, understood. “I’ll start it running, shall I?”

Trott disappeared into the ensuite, and Smith’s eyes drifted back up to focus on the ceiling. He chewed his lip absentmindedly for a moment, concentrating very hard at not thinking, before rising to his feet with a curse.

His steps were long and harried as he chased after Trott, shoed feet squeaking mutedly against the hardwood flooring. Trott glanced up as he entered and, seeing his expression, stepped back to the toilet, sitting down on the closed seat. Smith stopped, rubber soles protesting, and clenched his hand into a fist.

And Trott held his arms open, and Smith’s unspoken question was answered. Smith all but tumbled into his arms, breath escaping him in a near-sigh as he felt Trott’s arms tighten around him. Smith rested his cheek against Trott’s silky hair, and his heart seemed to expand painfully in his chest.

Maybe this was all he needed, after all.

“Tub’s full, babe,” Trott murmured, and reluctantly Smith released the shorter man. He took a large step back, trying to remove the temptation from his reach immediately.

Then Trott leaned over the edge of the tub, a look of concentration on his face as he twisted the dials, and Smith found his hand resting on Trott’s shoulder of its own volition. Trott glanced up at him, curiously, but Smith only rubbed his shoulder gently before pulling his hand back.

He undressed quickly, indifferent to Trott’s eyes, which valiantly seemed to watch his expression rather than the rest of him. Smith sent him a small smirk when he caught Trott looking, just once, and Trott gave him a mock-scowl in response.

Then he was naked, and he brushed his fingertips against Trott’s cheek before stepping into the tub.

The water was warm, almost overly so, but his eyes slipped shut with contentment all the same. He stretched out as best he could, though the tub was still too small for his overlarge frame. Blinking his eyes open, he found his bent knees rose out of the water like tiny islands, and Smith suppressed a giddy smirk at the thought.

Trott’s hand came to rest on his knee, and Smith looked over to find that Trott had lost his shirt at some point. The look on Trott’s face was intoxicating, warmth and just a hint of disbelief in the way his lips curved up and his eyes were wide. “You’re in my bathtub,” Trott said, quietly.

“Yeah,” Smith said, just as quiet.

Trott’s hand slipped from Smith’s knee to rest on the bottom of the tub beside Smith’s hip, and he used that arm to lean bodily over the edge of the tub and press a light kiss to Smith’s forehead. A sigh escaped Smith, nearly nonexistent.

“Thank you,” Trott whispered to his forehead.

“For what?” Smith asked.

Trott didn’t respond. He leaned back on his haunches and grabbed a washcloth from the towel bar on the near wall. Smith held his hand out automatically, waiting for Trott to hand it to him, but Trott shook his head. “Can I?” he asked, and Smith blinked in surprise.

“Y-yeah,” Smith said, and watched Trott dip the washcloth into the water.

The washcloth was soothing against his skin, and his eyes slipped shut as he allowed Trott to wash him. A forlorn sigh escaped his lips, and Trott’s hand paused briefly, before resuming the steady movements.

“I want it to be good,” Smith found himself saying, voice hushed.

“Well, of course.”

“No, you don’t get it. This is still just our second--”

“Third.”

“...third time, and everything’s so…”

“I get it. But Smith, even if you cry, even if you puke all over me and tell me you never want to do this again, that’s not gonna change the way --” Trott bit his lip, self-conscious alarm flooding his face.

“Tell me,” Smith whispered, and Trott blushed.

“The way I feel about you,” Trott said, so softly.

“How do you feel about me?”

“You know,” Trott said.

“Tell me, Trott, please.” Smith would have to remember that. The look that flooded Trott’s face was full of tenderness and something like possessiveness. Please really was a magic word, he thought to himself.

“I love you, Smith, I said that already.”

“You’ll have to say it again. And again, and again, until the day you die.”

“The day I die?”

“Yeah. You’re older, mate, there’s no way you’re not going to die first.”

“You ass, Smith.”

A moment passed, and Smith chewed his lower lip. He took in a deep breath. “Thank you.” His voice was soft, and Trott read his expression for what it was, his hand resting briefly against Smith’s bicep.

Then his lips quirked into a little smile. “Is there room in there for another, mate?”

“You’d know better than me, Trott.”

“Budge over, then!”

~

When the water had grown cold and their fingers and toes had turned into prunes, Trott finally deigned to clamber out of the tub. Smith stood to follow, an involuntary shiver passing through him as he left the comfortable embrace of the water.

Trott grabbed a towel off the rack and turned to wrap Smith in it, giving his shoulder a brisk rub before turning to get a towel for himself. Smith dug his fingers into the fabric of the towel, relishing the feel of the plush fabric, and his eyes tracked Trott as he moved.

Leaving the towel draped over his shoulders, he stepped forward to grab Trott’s wrists, tugging him along into the bedroom.

“Hmm?” Trott asked, lazily, allowing the towel to fall out of his arms and into a sprawl behind them.

Smith shrugged the towel off his own shoulders, nearly tripping over it in his haste, and fell back onto the bed, tugging Trott down with him. He felt more than heard Trott’s intake of breath as their chests landed flush against each other, and savored the feel of Trott’s weight, a solid and reassuring pressure, on top of him once more. He couldn’t stop his hands from roaming up and down Trott’s sides, through the tracks of moisture left on his skin, up and down his biceps. Smith closed his eyes, focusing on the movement in an attempt to memorize the form that was so dear to him.

Trott pressed their lips together, and Smith’s mouth opened against his of its own volition. Trott’s tongue, warm and sweet, caressed his with a single-minded fervor that went straight to Smith’s groin. A groan made its way past his lips as he shifted on the bed, feeling his growing erection press against Trott’s upper thigh.

A breathy laugh escaped Trott as he pulled his lips away. Smith tried in vain to chase him, but Trott planted his palm firmly against Smith’s chest.

“Be right back,” Trott whispered, the words brushing warmly against Smith’s lips,and then Trott’s weight was gone.

Smith pushed himself up onto his elbows, disgruntled, to see Trott grabbing the lube from the bag. He pried open the box as he walked back to the bed, flinging the empty box over his shoulder as he climbed back onto the bed on all fours. He crawled forward, coming to rest between Smith’s legs. Smith’s eyes finally caught his and Trott gave him a little smile.

“Hey,” Trott said as he scooted forward.

“Hey,” Smith said, eyes following Trott’s lips.

Trott leaned down, pressing his lips again to Smith’s, and Smith immediately opened his mouth to the feel of Trott’s tongue. Trott’s hands landed on his upper thighs, the little plastic container of lube still clutched in his left hand leaving an imprint in Smith’s thigh.

A hum escaped Smith’s lips as Trott leaned his weight against Smith, pushing him back until Smith’s arms could no longer hold him and he fell back on the mattress with a huff of breath. Trott smiled down at him, then twisted the cap off of the lube with hands that were just beginning to tremble with anticipation.

His shaking fingers encountered a foil lining, and with a little groan of frustration Trott plucked at it, trying to pry it up with blunt fingernails. Smith snorted as he watched, arousal allayed temporarily by amusement.

Trott gave him an admonishing look, brows drawn, but his eyes glistened with amusement. He gave a little snarl and finally pried the lining free, and some of the lube spurted out onto his hands.

He spluttered, and a laugh tore from Smith. He was still grinning as Trott finished slicking his fingers and leaned over Smith, predatorily.

The first press of Trott’s finger against him felt strange… it was undeniably there, slightly cool and rigid. Trott pushed with the finger, slightly, and Smith felt his body give way to the foreign pressure.

Smith grit his teeth, pushing the air out in a soft hiss, and Trott’s eyes darted toward his. They flickered across Smith’s face, dark and intent, taking in his expression before pushing deeper with his finger.

Then Trott curled his finger, and a noise like a whine escaped Smith’s lips. His fingers clenched in the bedsheets, his thighs parting to give Trott better access to his opening.

The continued press of Trott’s finger was at turns exhilarating and uncomfortable, overwhelming and not enough. It felt exhilarating, new, and exciting, something he had never really thought about before in too much detail. Smith squirmed, reaching out with one hand to grasp Trott’s shoulder.

Trott’s eyes flickered, checking his face, and Smith nodded rapidly. Trott smiled, nervously and endearingly, as he leaned forward to peck a kiss against Smith’s cheek.

“Aw, fuck off,” Smith moaned, turning his head to hide the smile playing at his lips.

“Not for a bit yet,” Trott whispered playfully.

“I’m going to murder you,” Smith murmured traitorously into the pillow.

Trott’s laugh was a soft huff of breath against Smith’s collarbone. His finger twitched again, inside Smith, and Smith almost jolted from renewed sensation. Trott slipped his finger out, then, and Smith huffed a little in protest. But before he could say anything, Trott’s finger was back, and with a second one.

Smith’s breath left him in a gust as excitement threaded through him. This much more felt like exponentially more pressure, more stretch, and a breathy moan escaped his lips before he could stop himself. Trott made a noise, a little like a laugh and a little like a gasp, and the fingers pressed harder into Smith, pushing his opening wider as the fingers went inexorably deeper.

His whole body began to wake up, the push and pull lighting up his nerve endings. He couldn’t help but arch his back, pressing his ass toward Trott. “Fuck,” he muttered, and astonishingly, Trott didn’t say anything in response. Smith’s eyes darted up to take in Trott’s expression.

Trott was staring down at his fingers, eyes wide and very dark. His mouth was parted in a little “O” of surprise, astonishment and lust written clearly across his face. Smith felt himself smirk a little at the sight of Trott speechless.

The look fed into his hunger, the aching, pulsing need for something more. “Trott,” he whined, reaching out to grab Trott’s wrist.

“What?” Trott asked breathlessly. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re taking way too fucking long. I’m ready!” Smith moaned.

“Oh-okay,” Trott said. He looked down. “Fuck, one minute.”

“What?” Smith snapped as Trott pulled away, tugging his fingers out too quickly. It felt like -- he wasn’t sure what it felt like, but it was unpleasant. “Fucking hell, watch out, mate.”

“Sorry!” Trott said hastily, coming to a halt.

“What’re you doing?”

“Getting a fucking condom. Wasn’t that the whole point of our trip?”

“Just hurry up and get back here!”

“Right,” Trott said, a little frantically, as he whirled into a flurry of motion again. Smith shut his eyes, not wanting to catch Trott’s sudden wave of nervousness, but he could still hear as Trott fumbled with the shopping bag and, finally, the telltale sound of the foil packet being ripped.

Smith opened his eyes in time to watch Trott wrap himself in the condom, a frown of concentration etched onto his face. Then Trott looked back up, and his eyes met Smith’s.

“Hurry the fuck up,” Smith breathed, not half as mouthy as he’d like.

He spread his thighs wide as Trott came to settle between them, gripping the base of his erection with one hand and taking hold of one of Smith’s thighs with the other.

“Um,” Trott said then. He slid further back on the bed, staring down at Smith for what felt like an uncomfortably long time.

“What?” Smith demanded.

“I think -- I’m not sure -- you’d better turn over,” Trott said uncertainly.

“Fuck,” Smith whined, but before Trott could continue, he moved. He lifted his leg to nudge Trott back off of him with his foot and once he had space to, rolled over onto his stomach and pushed up onto his hands and knees.

“Yes, that’s -- that’s easier,” Trott said.

Smith rolled his eyes. “Were you going to do anyth--unnhh--” He broke off as he felt the press of Trott’s erection against his hole.

“You were saying?” Trott asked, snarkily, and Smith snarled wordlessly in response.

“That’s what I thought,” Trott muttered, before pushing inside Smith in a shallow thrust.

The noise that escaped Smith felt inhuman; it was wordless and instinctual. He gulped in a breath as Trott pressed inside him, deeper, stretching him wider than he thought he could.

It was a little painful, but in the same way a good workout was painful -- Smith felt the desire for more, for the burn in his muscles to catch flame. He tried to push back against Trott, push him deeper inside. Trott’s hand came to rest on his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin and holding him relatively still. Smith groaned, frustrated, and tangled his own fingers in the fabric of the sheets. 

Smith felt Trott’s breath on his shoulders as Trott groaned out: “Okay?” and Smith nodded into the sheets frantically, lifting his hips to press back against Trott.

Trott thrust forward against him, and Smith rocked forward despite his braced thighs. His cock bobbed between his legs, stroking against the mattress with just enough pressure to tease him. Smith could feel the hot puffs of Trott’s breath against his shoulders, the grounding and somewhat painful pricks of blunt nails, and the hot thick burn of Trott inside him, dragging against him with every move he made.

It was perfect, terribly perfect, and Smith could hardly breathe. His lungs were burning, too, as he gasped in breath after breath. He felt Trott’s hand slip down his sweat-slicked back to curl around his waist, holding him secure as Trott’s thrusts sped up.

Then, with a caught breath, Trott’s thrusts stuttered out -- his hands tightened their grip on Smith nearly painfully and a long, low groan escaped his lips as he shuddered.

With a disappointed groan, Trott pulled out of Smith, more carefully than he had before. It still felt strange, wrong, and Smith felt suddenly very empty. Smith moaned, the swell of his cock more insistent now than ever.

Trott pushed his shoulder, rolling Smith onto his back. Smith whined as Trott looked him up and down before latching onto his cock with both hands.

Trott gave him a few gratifying tugs before leaning down and sucking the tip into his mouth.

A loud moan escaped Smith as he stared down at Trott’s face, the shorter man’s eyes boring into his with his lips wrapped around him. Trott’s tongue flickered out to lick his slit, and Smith threw his head back, fingers twisting in the sheets.

The pressure around his cock let up as Trott shifted his hands back. Smith let out a whine of distress and a desperate “Fuck” but Trott made up for it immediately by swallowing down his cock.

“Fuck!” Smith said, voice overloud. “Shit shit shit,” he whispered, or tried to whisper, eyes focused on the ceiling as he writhed against the mattress.

Then Trott’s fingers were pressing into his hole once again, and Smith instinctively spread his legs wide to give him better access. Three pushed their way inside with no trouble; a startled noise escaped Smith, but the press of the fingers inside him felt so good.

The combination of the press inside him and the heat and warmth surrounding his cock was overwhelming. He took air in in frantic gulps, staring down into Trott’s eyes.

The rush of pleasure caught him off guard; he shouted as he came into Trott’s mouth, his body convulsing against the mattress. Trott swallowed, his eyes widening and throat convulsing as Smith’s hips jerked.

As Smith eased back against the bed, he could see a trickle of his come on Trott’s bottom lip. Trott pulled up, gently pulling his fingers out.

Smith held out his arms, but Trott shook his head. “One minute,” he said hastily, turning on his heel. Smith allowed his eyes to fall shut as he listened to the sound of the trash bin opening and shutting, and then Trott’s footsteps against the floor.

The mattress dipped and Smith opened his eyes just in time to see Trott laying beside him, his head facing Smith’s. The smile on his face was a little giddy, a little mysterious, and Smith quirked and smirk at the sight of it.

“Rousing success, mate,” Smith said, stretching slightly before settling back down.

“For round one,” Trott said, sounding very pleased with himself.

“‘Izzat so?” Smith mumbled, sleepiness slurring his words. He rolled over so he was half on top of Trott, throwing an arm across the smaller boy’s chest.

“That’s how you show your appreciation? Suffocating me?” Trott demanded, but his voice was playful.

“Yup,” Smith said, and nuzzled his face against the crook of Trott’s neck. He could smell the clean scent of Trott’s sweat, and a mustier note underneath that. It was a scent he was growing ever more fond of.

“Bloody wanker,” Trott said, and if he said anything else, it was lost as Smith fell into a contented sleep.


End file.
